


I love your beautiful anger

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Pining, mention of mild violence, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: Draco, facing a prospect of another lonely birthday, finds out that his old-time nemesis - that hot-headed pot of anger, Weasley - might have just entered  the dating market - or so the rumours say - and decides to do something about his years-long obsession with the redhead's lovely temper. At all costs. Even if it means involving a pair of feisty Pygmy Puffs. Now, with Draco's rotten luck, how can this end well?!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capitu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitu/gifts).



> I was lured in to do this last-minute, silly "little piece" (I swear it was meant to be little, but then it just Hagrid-ized on me!) by the lovely [capitu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/capitu) (with a most cunning "If you write I write!") This one is for you, dear girl, because the mean Universe has to be countered somehow!  
> It's NOT beta-ed, so my horrid grammar and lack of good words come to shine in their full glory - but it was fun to write (albeit a bit stressful). Grammar Nazis, please don't die on me, consider yourselves warned. ;)  
> Not much to say about the story - only that my son's got a couple of toy Pygmy Puffs and we're all collectively in love with the little furry beasts. ;)  
> The title of the story comes from a song called "Sorrow" by IAMX and though I'm not a devoted fan, I like this one.  
> Not trying to steal or sell anything here, just having fun.

Draco smacked his glass of Ogden's finest onto the library table, nearly cracking the delicate thing in a fit of helpless frustration. Bloody Weasel! How dare the freckled bastard treat him that way?! It wasn’t like he kissed the beautiful Gryffindor dork out of the blue, was it?!

The redheaded menace accepted his invitation for a drink, didn’t he?! For Merlin’s sake, why did the gorgeous idiot think he bothered? Surely not for conversational purposes! Though, as it turned out, talking to Weasel wasn’t _quite_ as tedious as he expected it to be – it was almost… pleasant… well, it was certainly _easy_ – but that hadn’t been the purpose! They were _flirting_ , for fuck’s sake! How was there another name for all that soft talk, easy smiles and the way the space between them kept slowly disappearing? How oblivious could a man be, seriously?! Even a Gryffindor… seriously?!

But, honestly, Draco _should_ have known better. Weasel’s obliviousness was a thing of legends, and the last couple of hours they spent together was the ultimate proof that his reputation was clearly well deserved. Sitting next to a man whose warm, earthy scent was a failproof recipe for “How to dissolve a Malfoy into a pool of most desperate want”, has left Draco with a horrendous case of a throbbing cock, and by the end of the evening he was exasperated enough to hump _any_ wood, even the humble leg of the less-than-impeccable table in the Leaky Cauldron had come to mind.

He was quickly running out of subtle ways to spell out to the gorgeous fire-head _“I want you! Want to fuck! F.U.C.K. Yes?!”,_ so in his state of diminished mental capacity, he opted for the one move of sheer desperation that was left: in the enactment of the modern equivalent of clubbing your chosen one on the head and dragging him in your cave, he kissed delicious, oblivious Weasel on that decadent, sweet mouth. Good and proper. Out in the open. For everyone to see… yeah. That bad. Not the kiss, that is. The kiss was… uhm, kind of earth-shattering, to be honest. But the fact that there had been the _need_ for a kiss… ugh.

But what else could he have done? That soft, generous mouth had been smiling at him the whole evening – _smiling,_ mind you, like never before! – and closing around the rim of the bottle in a filthy, suggestive way that had Draco barely swallowing his mewling. At the sight of Weasel sucking the liquid straight out of the bottle, with his eyes closed, and so greedily that the thin rivulets of it ran from the corners of his absurdly tempting mouth, Draco’s horny imagination instantly projected a hundred and one situation of uhm… _other_ liquid filling the redhead’s mouth and it had made his balls absolutely _ache_ for release… And then that utter berk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled at him apologetically, the twinkle in those blue eyes oh-so-innocent… _ohhhh_ … well, that was it, really. Draco had literally jumped him. And he _never_ jumped anyone. And because it was bloody Weasel, it was, of course, totally worth it.

The bloody time seemed to stop. Probably there were church towers crumbling around the globe, and angels falling from the sky, because a Malfoy was kissing a Weasley… but it had to be done. He _had_ to. If only for a little taste… he was desperate for it. This had been a long time coming.

He’s had a thing for it, you see – for that little thing Weasley had that no one else did. One could always count on Potter and Granger to do the right thing, but the redhead… there was a flicker of dark and untamed about him, a shadow at the bottom of those alluring blue eyes, an unexpected violent outburst, or an act of careless ruthlessness that an unequivocally good person would never be capable of – and it always made Draco’s knees weak to witness it.

Weasley had been his first shocking meeting with brute force he could not manipulate away with clever words… and, uhm, yeah, his first unfortunate hard-on. He still remembered how flabbergasted he had been, when the dirt-poor boy with fiery red hair and fierce blue eyes never bothered to return his mean jab at his poverty with a smart reply or even a nifty spell. Instead, he had smashed right into him, knocking him flat over before those buffoons of his friends even had a chance to react, and bloodied his face before Draco even had a chance to squeal. He still vividly remembered how stunned he had been, when those long limbs wrapped around him, and he’d been suddenly flooded by another boy’s body heat, with that hot breath teasing his skin from up close, and blue eyes burning in front of his face. He had barely felt the first punch – though he damn sure felt it for days afterwards! – he’s been way too busy being introduced to an alien feeling of being close to someone.

He’d never seen so much passion up close, he’d never been so… corporeal with anyone. Weasley had been his first. The first person who had savagely invaded his personal space, completely ignoring the fact that Draco was smarter, richer, more handsome –  but simply delivering punch after punch, teaching Draco a valuable lesson about the fragility of his own status. He had always thought himself untouchable and able to get away with his petty cruelty. He’d considered his ability to insult the lesser creatures clever and funny, and he’d never expected to be punished for it. He was the only heir of a distinguished pureblood family after all; his father was influential, they had riches enough to splash around, and he was raised to believe he was going to be someone important. Well, none of it mattered under the hard fists of Ronald Weasley, cracking his skin and nearly his bones as well. None of that had helped him one bit in the eye of that blind rage he had caused with his derogatory arrogance.

That pretty mouth that made a bit of an involuntary worshiper out of him later, had been inches from his face, hissing insults, expletives and obscenities, he’d never even heard an adult utter, but what had shocked him the most was how much he’d _liked_ it. Bloody Weasel would just spit out any damn thing Draco was appalled to even think, and the blond hadn’t really realised what this kind of rude boldness was doing to him, until the Gryffindor’s thigh pushed between his legs to pin him down – and Draco couldn’t hold back a helpless moan. Somewhere down the road, he had turned – oh, god – hard… and tense… and still pressed against that muscled thigh… He’d found himself hot, and bothered, and bloody under the body of one Ron Weasley he hated and despised and couldn’t help to bloody _inhale_ like irresistible poison. So he’d done the only thing that’d been left for him to do.

“Please,” he had whimpered. “Please, stop.”

And Weasley, fist raised for another punch, had indeed stopped, looking shocked and bewildered as if someone had just woken him up. Blood had still been running down the thin, freckled face – because Draco had apparently managed to throw in a punch or two after all – and his blue eyes connected with Draco’s for a long, unforgettable moment. Draco had never felt so… _assaulted_ by the mixed emotions before. He’d never felt more helpless, humiliated and damaged… but the way Weasley was looking at him, arched above him like a fiery wave about to crash down on him hard, had blurred everything else. He _liked_ it. God help him, but he liked being at another boy’s mercy. It wasn’t just the friction of his swollen cock, pressing against the warm, hard flesh of the redhead’s thigh… it was the whole _feeling_ of being mastered… that unbound _savagery_ that made him breathless and had unravelled him so completely that he was willing to beg… that power he had over Weasley to say one word – _“please”_ – that made him stop. He hadn’t known it at the time, but he was hooked. He’d been looking for another Weasley ever since. He couldn’t keep this one. Not back then, and clearly, not even now.

The lanky redhead had gotten up and backed away from him rather suddenly that day, and there might have been a flicker of shame flashing in those fiery blue eyes – Draco was smaller and more delicately built after all – but then he’d simply shrugged, wiped the blood off his face with his sleeve, and murmured defiantly: “Well, you had it coming, you arrogant little bugger.”

Later in his bedroom, the shame and the anger had come – and so had the funny little question: what would Weasley have done if he’d asked him not to stop? The thought had sent the shivers down Draco’s spine. He tried to chase it away – he had _hated_ being assaulted like that, didn’t he, why would he even _want_ that stupid ginger Neanderthal not to stop?! – but he could only bury it under his resentment and about a million heated vows to get back to the redhead and his crowd of sorry Gryffindor losers. Still, this incident was the one his father never found out about. As infuriating and humiliating as it was, it was somewhat… precious.

He would rather die than admit it, but he’d been chasing the same feeling for his entire stay at Hogwarts. He’d provoke, and irritate and take verbal shots at the redhead, hoping for a repeat, and sometimes he was indeed lucky enough to get a response – never quite long enough, never quite private enough. Every once in a while Draco’s taunting would push the redhead too far, and Weasel would lose it and push him against the wall in his rage. And as if by magic, Draco’s body would burst to life in the sweet expectation of that raw power, of the hot breath teasing his skin, of hissed, filthy expletives he’d later whisper to himself when he wanked, of that closeness he liked to fantasise the redhead knew about. The fiery Gryffindor would always get pulled back by one of the Slytherin goons Draco kept close, but Draco got his fix and another fill for forbidden day-dreams… until next time.

The redhead indeed seemed to have inexhaustible reserves of anger and frustration ready for him and Draco had made sure it had stayed that way. He’d gone as far as to fly all the way up to Weasley’s family home during the summer holidays, just have some more material to taunt the Gryffindor who was clearly embarrassed by their poverty. Though, as Draco remembered with surprising ire even after all these years, _that_ had somewhat backfired. He’d stumbled upon a scene of Weasley and Potter having a swim – and apparently a lot of fun – at the pond near the house and all that pale freckled skin and hearty, unabashed laughter had given him a raging hard-on and sent him into a massive fit of jealousy. How come Potter, with a bloody _death-threat_ hanging over his head, got to have so much fun?! With _his_ Weasel?!

He knew back then as he knew now that this obsession was not a healthy one – but he could not help himself and his perverted desires he could barely understand. It made no sense for someone like Draco, with high social standing and a bright future in front of him, to pine after a boy who was an insignificant side-kick at best. Well, Draco had a feeling that what he felt for Weasley had little to do with sense anyway. When it was just the redhead and himself, with no space between them, it felt right… as if things were as they should be. Fuck him, and his mad desires!

This evening’s calamity was all his own blood fault anyway. As soon as he found out that Weasley was no longer working as an Auror, that he took up a job at his brother’s store and finally decided to put some distance between himself and Potter, who cast a really long shadow these days, Draco had come running like a lost puppy. If he had a tail, he suspected he’d be wagging it. He didn’t really know what to expect, or why was he even having a go at contacting his alluring nemesis – but like any other thing that had to do with Weasley, this decision made no sense as well. He _had_ to go… he had to try.

Perhaps his only reasonable excuse could be that he was facing a prospect of another lonely birthday – and he could no longer bear it. That bloody war had made a social pariah out of him, and though by some divine mercy and Potter’s long arm, he was allowed to keep the family wealth, he was ostracised in every walk of life. He could barely get out without getting shouted and spit at, or humiliated by the strangers who thought he had gotten off too easy and wanted to take justice into their own hands. After one such incident had landed him at St. Mungo’s, he was visited by Granger who sat by his bed awkwardly for about ten minutes and upon departure handed him his wand back.

“We think it’s best you should have this back… for defence and everyday spells only,” she warned him, and he could tell how uneasy it made her. “We’ll know if you try something funny.” He could still see the scars on her arm that his mad aunt inflicted upon her, and he almost didn’t take the offered wand. But in the end the reason prevailed. He _had_ been feeling so very helpless without it, and as a true Slytherin, he knew his reluctance would soon be forgotten. It was the right choice and it _did_ feel incredible to have some of his former power back. He never truly understood what a privilege it was to own a wand that responded to him perfectly, until he had lost it.

But even having his wand back hasn’t done much to improve his social life, and at nearly 25 he felt as lonely and forgotten as if, by ill chance, he had been locked in a glass box that would only let him watch the life go by while he could have no part of it.

And then he had woken this morning to that heart-stopping news, plastered all over the front page of the Prophet:

_“Ronald Weasley leaving prestigious position at the Ministry to take part in family business”_

The article – and its author, that harpy Skeeter – went on to say acidly, how _“the least significant member of the Trio decided to leave rather abruptly from the position that was only ever his by the merit of being the Chosen One’s right hand man”._ But the part of the article that had made Draco’s heart beat faster, hinted that _“there was a number of rumours from various, very reliable sources that his relationship with his long-time girlfiend, the too-brilliant-to-settle-for-the-average-guy part of the Trio, Ms Hermione Granger, was on the rocks”_. This… was too good to be true. Well, it was, in the end, wasn’t it?


	2. Chapter 2

But it started out promising! Draco decided to dress up with particular care – the way he hadn’t had a reason to dress up for years – and of course he promptly determined he had _nothing_ to wear! Madam Malkin was instantly bribed into an emergency house visit that resulted in Draco having a closet full of clothes that were suspiciously more like Muggle wardrobe than anything he ever owned because “ _that has been the fashion for years now, Mr. Malfoy, have you fallen off the planet?!”_ But he had to give this round to the Muggles: his new garments were perhaps less stylish – who knew white gloves were out of fashion?! – but incomparably more comfortable and… well, kind of cute, really. As long as his father didn’t find out about it.

His day-long clothing-related shenanigans cost him much precious time and the sun was nearly setting, when he, in slight panic over his tardiness, apparated rather awkwardly to the Number 93 Diagon Alley at the front door of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. His uncommonly loud arrival managed to scare a poffle of Pygmy Puffs in the shop window into ear-piercing squealing because that’s how rotten his luck was, wasn’t it? It was only then that he realised that he had forgotten behind something rather important: a good excuse. What if someone bothered to ask what was he doing there? He couldn’t possibly tell them he had crawled out of his hiding place, lonely as a stray dog, to ask Ron Weasley if he was by any chance still up to some of that manhandling he used to be so good at back in Hogwarts, could he now?!

But then the door opened in front of him rather forcefully and he realised his time was up. There was the man himself, Ron Weasley, all grown up, frowning like he used to, and fucking _beautiful_. Draco realised, somewhat breathless, that he had last properly seen the guy after that fiasco in the Room of Requirement. He was still a boy back then, and he had inadvertently given Draco one last parting present by landing that last angry slap across his face that made him shiver, while howling angrily something about saving his life – though the blond remembered as little of it back then as he did now.

But he’s never seen him up close as a man. And he was… impressive. Adulthood – and that Auror business he was into – clearly more than agreed with the tall redhead. His chiselled physique was visible even through a button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves and his shoulders positively _bulged_ with all the muscle. His skin was as beautifully freckled and translucent as always, and his eyes as piercing blue as he remembered them to be. And that soft, tempting mouth, capable of saying such filth… Draco swallowed. If he had any lines, he would have forgotten them on the spot.

“Merlin’s wrinkled pants, what are _you_ doing here?”

Oh, even his voice had turned deeper… he almost growled at Draco, and there was no use lying – it instantly made his knees soft.

“Hello, Weasley,” he somehow managed with the help of standard Malfoyian drill. “Nice to see you, too. I was wondering if you’d…”

 _… go home with me_ , was all he could think of, but Gryffindor’s frown had already deepened, and he crossed his massive arms on his chest, so Draco knew he either had to do better, fast, or take his pathetic bones – as many as remained intact – out of there.

“… if you could sell me something.”

“We’re closed,” the redhead said curtly, and pointed to the plate that stated their working hours being from 09.00 AM to 07.00 PM. Clearly, he had turned out to be a businessman enough not to smack a potential customer across the gob in a way of saying “hello” – even if that one turned out to be his old nemesis – but he certainly wasn’t moving any mountains any time soon to accommodate the blond either. Draco had to step up his game – desperate time called for desperate measures.

“Please,” he said pathetically, because that was it – that was all he had and it had worked once before. “I’d appreciate it.”

Weasley didn’t even move a muscle. He was still blocking Draco’s way, and he just kept staring at him with those piercing eyes as if he was trying to read him. In that moment, he looked much more like an Auror, getting ready to interrogate a potential criminal, than he did like a shop owner. But then something in his face softened, and he raised an auburn eyebrow as if challenging Draco.

“Well?”

“Uhm… well, what?” Draco blurted, not quite certain he had any brain cells left because about two seconds before that he was fully engulfed by that _ohmyfuckinggod_ Weasley scent, and that was it, really. He was now on the verge of stupid.

“What would you like to buy?”

Shit. Uhm. Shit. He had no bloody idea what the joke shop was selling these days. The only thing that came to mind was…

“Those. I’ll have one of those.” He couldn’t even believe his own finger, dumbly pointing at the poffle of Pygmy Puffs who were back to their happy rolling around and content squealing like a nest of bright, hairy eggs.

“ _You_ … would like to buy a _Pygmy Puff_?”

If incredulity was a currency, Ron Weasley could close shop and go home a millionaire. Ready to sink all the way to China and hitting all the pits of hell on his way there, Draco only managed to nod, his throat blocked in utter humiliation. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ It was stupid to come and this was… oh, merciful god, _please,_ let no one tell his father about this!

“They aren’t used in any dark magic ritual, as far as I know…,” Weasley murmured to himself, disbelief still the prevailing feature of his face. “And you certainly can’t eat them… Why d’you want one for, eh?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re not going to torture it or something?”

Draco shook his head, still too mortified for words. But while his short-circuited brain wasn’t quite in working order, his wayward mouth was left in charge, and the mad thing just blurted out:

“Lonely. I’m lonely. I heard they make great companions.”

 _Oh.Fucking.Please._ Someone murder him now… Where was his homicidal Aunt Bella when one needed her?! He simply closed his eyes and waited for that booming Weasley laughter that was bound to come to corrode away what was left of his pride. But it never did. He finally opened his eyes when he heard the noise of the key being turned in the lock.

“Well, what are you waiting for, then?” Ron Weasley mumbled. “I haven’t got all evening. We only sell them in pairs, though, so you’re going to have to take a couple, or I can’t make you a deal. They’re very social little beasts; they’ve been known to die of boredom when the owner is away for a few days, but if there are two of them, they’ll keep each other entertained. Don’t worry, they can’t breed. Only we can do that. Takes quite a bit of magic, too. Go on, pick a pair!”

Draco, barely able to believe his luck, came to stand before the nest of the brightly coloured little animals, but he was still too out of it to even pretend he was making a pick.

“You pick them,” he said pathetically, his voice still shaking slightly. “You know them better.”

“I _don’t_ … what a load of rubbish, seriously… no one _knows_ them better,” the redhead said cheerfully, and Draco could hear the barely held-back laughter in his voice. “We breed them, but it’s not like they think I’m their _dad_ , you know! But if you insist… here, take this sulky pink little one… it’s a bit smaller than the rest of the poffle, and it’s been shoved aside the whole time. But the little thing’s got spirit, it’s been squealing and hissing at them the whole time…”

The redhead gently removed the feisty little ball of squeals from the nest and placed it on Draco’s shoulder. It immediately relaxed and began purring against his ear.

“There… funny, he seems to like you… maybe you are well-matched after all. And as to the second one… perhaps… this one. This one’s a bit oddly coloured – not really pink or purple, but almost… uh, ginger… Maybe I should have taken George’s nagging more seriously and wear that bloody hat when I was busy with the breeding magic…”

Draco went still when the redhead’s warm, strong fingers brushed against his ear – but a second later the whole hell broke loose. The little ginger ball of fur on his shoulder all but exploded into ear-piercing angry squeals and obviously tried to use its short, soft legs to climb up the side of Draco’s head – luckily to no avail.

“Wow, wow, wow… hold it there, little fellow, what the hell are you up to? I swear I’ve never…”

“It appears it doesn’t like me,” Draco said awkwardly, and was surprised over how miserable he sounded.

“Nah… I don’t think it’s that,” the redhead said thoughtfully. “They’re usually positively in love with their owners but… hm, let me try something.”

Another slight touch of warm fingers across Draco’s ear sent the shivers down the blond’s spine, and in the next moment the first little Pygmy Puff was removed and happily trying to balance his round shape on Ron Weasleys shoulder. And as if by magic, the ginger little Pygmy cut off his hysterical squealing and began happily nibbling on Draco’s ear.

“It was just…”

“Jealous, yeah,” Ron Weasley confirmed with a content, generous smile that made his blue eyes twinkle and made a knot somewhere in Draco’s chest even tighter.

 “It happens sometimes though I can’t say I’ve ever seen a case as extreme as this.”

“Well, it – he – it’s a ginger,” Draco’s unstoppable mouth blurted out _yet_ more nonsense. “They’re known to be…”

Upon a sharp look from the blue eyes he sheepishly finished: “… _temperamental_.”

That was it, really. He needed to get the hell out of that miserable place, before his loosened mouth got him a greasy obituary in tomorrow’s Prophet. Weasley was just fresh out of Auror corps, surely he knew a hundred and one way to hide a dead body! Maybe he’d be fed to a poffle of Pygmy Puffs – he had no idea what the damn things ate, but the one on his shoulder seemed to be a carnivore, with particular fondness for his ear.

But then against all odds – because clearly the world on the outside had gone mad while Draco wasn’t watching – Weasley _smiled_. And it wasn’t just any smile. It was that devilish, sexy smile that lit up his blue eyes and Draco was… he was roast, all right?! His knees did that funny, wobbly thing and he was sure that his Muggle-like clothes were waterproof because he was practically melted into a puddle on the inside.

“Yeah,” Weasley said softly, and bit his lip – _bit his lip_ , the bastard, how was that not criminal-level flirting?! “We’re a bit on the hot-headed side. But we _do_ make good companions.”

Oh, that gorgeous berk! Draco’s skin was positively tingling with the amount of sex-charged energy between them, and how did bloody Weasel not recognise it for what it was – and _not_ jump him! – was beyond the blond! He was ready! He would have himself ravaged in a shop full of potentially dangerous products and squealy Pygmy Puffs, that’s how desperate he was! It was in such sheer state of desperation that his temporary madness reached dangerous levels.

“You’ve mentioned you didn’t have all evening – where are you headed, then?”

 Oh, Salazar’s greasy beard! Now, why did he think sticking his point nose into something like this was a good idea?! Surely Weasel would…

“It’s Friday and I’m going to get sloshed,” Weasley said simply. “Shitload of personal demons to drown, you don’t want to know.”

“I see…” Draco said carefully, his mind suddenly alert – about bloody time, too! – and going a thousand miles a minute to figure out how to make the best of this gem of information he’d been handed over so freely.

“I suppose… Would you _mind_ …” – Draco stopped, suddenly unsure how to finish that thought: _“…if I get sloshed with you”_ didn’t quite cut it since drinking the night away was _hardly_ his idea of fun, but nor did _“…jumping me like a rabid dog”,_ which was _exactly_ his idea of fun _._ Oh, bloody hell on a high tree, he should have given this one more thought!

“What? Spit it out, then! Don’t hold back! Would I mind – _what_?”

Oh, Merlin’s limping crup, Weasel’s obliviousness was downright cruel, the bloody man was making him say it!

“… if I tagged along,” Draco finally uttered, pretending to scratch the hairy little menace on his shoulder because he was literally too shell-shocked over his own crudeness to look anywhere else.

But the long silence proved too hard to bear. Finally, he got enough courage together to chance a quick sideway look towards the redhead – only to be met with a most curious expression in those piercing blue eyes.

“Lonely, huh?” the redhead murmured quietly, as if only to himself. “Bet you are.”

It would have been humiliating if his tone was condescending, but it wasn’t. It was almost as if bloody Weasel appreciated his honesty.

“Yeah… you know what, to hell with it – sure, come along,” the redhead finally shrugged. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Once again, Draco could hardly believe his luck on this mad, ridiculous day. He was actually _going out_ with Ron Weasley! As in _out_ – in public! All right, it might have been under a pretence of having a measly drink – but still, it was a step in the right direction and at this point Draco was willing to take whatever little he was given. But then the feisty furry ball on his shoulder bit his ear in earnest, to the point of making him wince, and Draco barely kept his mental groan in check: seriously, how cursed was he?! What was he supposed to do with the silly little things he had purchased?!

“What about those?” he asked grudgingly, trying very hard not to show his annoyance – he was supposed to like the damn little nuisances after all. “I don’t suppose you’d mind hanging onto them for another day?”

“Nope, not happening,” Ron Weasley shook his head. “I’ve registered the sale, they can’t stay here – it would mess with our sales record, and George might re-sell them to someone else. Now, not only could that get us in trouble with the Ministry Inspection Services, but surely you’d be upset over a loss of your… companions.”

Well, if that was the only damage done… Draco came dangerously close to shrugging. But there was a bit of laughter in the redhead’s voice and the blond knew it would be simply too embarrassing to completely drop his deception, as transparent as it was. Therefore he swallowed bravely and mumbled _“I couldn’t bear it”_ as incoherently as he could.

“Great! I’m glad that’s settled. They’re coming with us, then,” mad Weasel said happily, and Draco’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Surely he wasn’t asked to walk into the Leaky Cauldron with a Pygmy Puff on his shoulder! Merlin’s sweaty pants, even in his sorry state he still had _some_ dignity left, you know!

“I’m not…” he started haughtily, but then his breath hitched when Weasley reached out and gently removed the little ginger fluff from his shoulder, making the animal squeal unhappily.

“It misses you already,” the redhead explained with a chuckle, while the little beast ran up his long arm and settled in the middle of the wide shoulder, looking upset. And Draco was surprised to find out how cold and… abandoned his shoulder suddenly felt without the little fur ball; almost as if there was something vital missing.

“And this one seems to have particular attachment issues; I told you – they practically fall in love with their owner. So – have you got any pockets that aren’t painted on your arse in that fancy attire of yours, Malfoy?” the redhead asked unexpectedly, and that insolent smirk on his face testified that he was having an obnoxious amount of fun.

Bloody Weasel, knocking the breath out of him like this… but he _did_ notice his arse so, uhm… victory?

“I… well, one,” Draco murmured, still a bit shaken from the fact that Weasley seemed to know that he owned an arse. “I _hate_ baggy pockets so it’s hidden on the inside of the coat. I dislike…”

But he didn’t even finish the sentence before those long fingers were on the lapels of his leather coat and Ron Weasley, that gorgeous Troglodyte, pulled him closer and causally, as if it was no big deal, began undoing the buttons of his coat. _Ohgodfuckyesthis_ …

“I need you to hold it open,” the redheaded giant, impressively tall up close, explained casually. But, sadly, Draco’s mental functions had clearly saw it fit to deteriorate to a point that he had no idea what the beautiful piece of male perfection was on about.

“Uhm… excuse me?” he asked distractedly, because, honestly, Weasley’s soft lips were inches from his face and that warm breath was teasing his skin… No wonder Draco’s brain promptly said _“do it yourself, love”_ , and left him to the mercy of his celebrating cock he could pierce a dragon with!

“I need you to hold your pocket open for me,” Ron Weasley said slowly, as if trying to be clear for a particularly thick child. “We need to put at least one of them in. It’ll drive you crazy if you keep it on your shoulder – but if it’s in a confined space, comforted by your body warmth, it’ll promptly fall asleep. Seriously, give it a minute and it’ll practically be snoring. Now – hold it open – there you go…”

 _Shit_. Oh… shit. Those long, big fingers, holding the soft animal, disappeared into the tightness of Draco’s clothes and he bit his lip, hard, not to mewl in needy despair. Ron Weasley was fucking sex-on-endless-legs and he was too close… too damn close. This man’s personal musk of a warm, healthy body with just a hint of some edgy, minty fragrance – soap? shampoo? – was a bloody aphrodisiac par excellence and it knocked the breath out of the blond. It got Draco’s nipples hard, for fuck’s sake and his skin practically erupted into goosebumps in the vicinity of the Gryffindor’s intoxicating presence. _Jesusfuck_ , this… them… Weasley…  Draco needed to get something out of it tonight… _this_ night, fucking half an hour ago was too late! He didn’t need a bloody first date with seven courses and polite courting –  he needed some good thorough fucking, some savage pounding through the floor, or his balls were going to sink all the way to China from all the held-back load.

But then he noticed Weasley froze for a moment – and that’s when it dawned on him. _The coat._ Draco’s stylish leather coat was open, leaving _everything_ to the view, and a blind man couldn’t miss the prominent bulge in his trousers – it was probably big enough in its desperate present state to knock an eye out. He had always been proud of being well-endowed, but those Muggle-ish clothes were tailored differently and much more clingy and… _oh,_ _damn_. Wrong fucking moment, you silly randy baton! Why wasn’t the stupid shaft capable of some self-activated camouflage – that should be standard feature with the stupid Muggle-like garments! This… was too much. It was too embarrassing, too soon, and it was _bound_ to make Weasel make a run for it.

But the redhead simply pulled his hand out of Draco’s pocket – an action followed by a tiny creature’s squeal – and a moment later those long fingers slowly brushed across silken lining of Draco’s coat in a gesture so erotic it made the near-dizzy blond feel the thick heat swirling at the bottom of his tense balls.

“You’re quite an excitable monster, aren’t you?” the redhead murmured softly, and turned away before the flabbergasted blond could figure out if he meant the little loud squealer, or his parading, self-promoting cock.

“Coming?” Weasley threw at him across the shoulder, still not looking at him, but busying himself by putting the other little pink ball away.

“Nearly there,” Draco choked out, and he meant every word.


	3. Chapter 3

Of course they turned quite a few heads when they appeared at the Leaky Cauldron together, and Longbottom nearly choked on his Butterbeer – honestly, who still drinks Butterbeer at the ripe age of 25?! But clearly Weasley’s reputation – or, perhaps, his temper? – didn’t allow any raised eyebrows to be upgraded to openly hostile actions, and Draco was, probably for the first time after the war, shown some courtesy of a good service. But other than Tom, the bartender, nearly pouring half of their order down their shoes while he was busy with open-mouthed staring at _an actual Weasley and a Malfoy_ behind one table, not engaged in a mortal combat – they were mostly left alone, and it turned out to be a really nice evening.

They took a seat in the boot in the corner, not too well lit, ordered their drinks and it nearly went down the wrong way with Weasley, when Draco cheekily winked a Longbottom who – looking half alarmed, half mesmerised – wouldn’t stop staring. The look of poor Neville turning near purple with embarrassment, made the Gryffindor hiccup with laughter – _“Merlin, you evil snake, stop it, stop! Jesus… my fucking ribs hurt… oh, holy fuck, I’m so going to have to apologise to poor Nev tomorrow!”_

Draco had no words to tell him that he was willing to bat his eyelashes to the entire fucking pub if that’s what it took to hear more of that precious, unabashed laughter. It did something to his inside to watch the redhead laugh like that – he felt as if something inside of him that kept him locked and frozen in the past was melting, and he was becoming warmer and more alive, almost more… _real_   with every moment he spend in the company of the man that never cared much for his polished façade. As if by Ron’s – Weasley’s – Ron’s side he was turning into a man he was meant to be. On more than one occasion he caught himself thinking that he could get used to that. If he was less hypnotised with the redhead’s presence, he wouldn’t have missed the warning signs that this was becoming something other… something _more_ than just about seducing the man of his dreams. He was falling fast but he never registered it until it was too late.

It was all Weasel’s fault anyway… he was too bloody _nice._ The whole evening was too bloody pleasant.  They drank some more – and nothing too innocent at that – and more easy laughter and playful banter ensued. It was a shock to Draco how smoothly conversation flew and how much they had to say to each other. Weasley shared a few of the anecdotes from his Auror days that made Draco cough out his drink on more than one occasion because the man was just a merciless – and very sardonic –  judge of character, while Draco commented on his adventures with his usual dry wit – somewhat restored, thank fuck! – that made the redhead throw his head back a couple of times and roar with laughter. God, he was precious! His golden-red hair glittered in the candlelight like priceless treasure and his eyes sparkled like two fresh pools of joy. Draco’s skin was tingling with uncontrollable desire to own this man, and with more and more glasses piling at their tables, it was becoming impossible to hide it. 

It was just… oh, _savage_ how aroused he had become while slowly melting into that invincible Weasley’s closeness. Its heavy charm hit Draco hard, pervaded his every sense until the redhead’s laughter, that beautiful smile, and that godless, intensely manly scent of him became the only thing Draco could focus on. The world outside their little boot faded away, it was just him and the gorgeous young man who challenged and defined him, who couldn’t do anything to stop the blond from wanting him.  

Perhaps it was the Ogden’s finest in the end, that corroded most of Draco’s caution and blurred everything other than pure, desperate need to finally sink into that warm heavy scent of barely held-back lust radiating from the redhead. It was pulling the blond in like a sweet smell of honey would a careless, drunken dragonfly and he was... hypnotised… addicted… obsessed. And _hard_. God, he was hard. Weasley, turning more touchy-feely with every empty glass, had been sending him so many mixed signals that in the end he simply had to know… he had to try. And fuck all.

So he did what he did. Leaned in and captured a stray drop of liquid in the corner of the redhead’s mouth with his tongue – and that was all it took. He couldn’t pull back any longer. Those soft, sweet lips responded to the very first touch, exhaled wet, hot breath, and then opened like a pair of rose petals. And the next thing he knew he was moaning and taking it all because that fucking fiery Weasel had a lot to give and he wasn’t holding back. Draco’s own mouth was suddenly full of silken tongue, inviting him to play, and he was done stifling his embarrassing whimpers, all too busy trying not to come as soon as the sharp white teeth took his bottom lip prisoner and worried it in a way that it drove him absolutely raving mad. He sank his fingers into that silken, glossy mane and held on for dear life.

“Merlin, Ron…”

It was all he managed, and he knew perfectly well how he sounded – needy, on fire, and completely undone. He was practically begging for it. He called him by his first name, for fuck’s sake – the name he furiously wanked to since he knew what wanking was – and it had made it personal. _Too_ _personal_.

Bloody Weasel seemed to wake up from a trance, and he abruptly pulled away as if he couldn’t quite believe his own actions. His blue eyes were wide as if he only just grasped the full volume of his actions, and he inadvertently ran his fingertips across his full, damaged lips as if he couldn’t quite believe it was Draco Malfoy who made them glossy and tingling.

And Draco was… well, quite mad. Mad with humiliation and all the bullshit that was keeping them apart; mad with toe-curling desire bubbling under the surface of his skin, practically screaming at the redhead to live up to that subtle, unspoken promise and _just.fucking.take.him_ – mad with need to feel, to be seen, to belong, to come alive in the arms of the one man that always knew how to make him feel that way. He was mad… so he hissed. Quite haughtily, too, sounding disturbingly like his old pre-war self. Perhaps not his wisest choice ever.

“Well… what _now_?! Oh, _please_ , don’t give me that look… even _you_ can’t tell me you didn’t know where this was headed! You and I… we’re good together, we’ve _always_ been good together… just not… oh, _fuck_ that. You can’t fucking do this to me, Weasley. Ron…”

His next word was going to be “please”. His voice was already dangerously wobbly, and he was near the edge of his self-restraint. He knew for a fact bloody Weasel couldn’t resist. But luckily – thank fuck for small graces! – the redhead cut him off before he was reduced to begging.

“We… I… can’t,” he said in a trembling voice, sounding confused and miserable, and then he simply didn’t bother anymore – he just Disapparated.

“Fuck…” was the only thing Draco exhaled, closing his eyes not to spill hot tears of anger and defeat, and followed the Gryffindor’s heed, Apparating home and going straight for more drink.

If only that was the end of this fucking evening. He couldn’t get out of his own head what an idiot he had made out of himself… and what the fuck was crazy Weasel thinking, misleading him like that… and – worst of all – he couldn’t get that fucking feeling of _wantwantwant_ out of his system. He wanted Weasley like mad… he still did. It’s like he was poisoned by him.... He just had enough of a taste of the redhead’s captivating magic to have turned him into a properly addicted Weasley worshiper and now he couldn’t help wanting and needing his redheaded god. He knew no amount of wanking would do – he wanted Weasley, Ron, the real man, not his fucking lonely fist and the empty dreams of him.

“Fuck!!!” he hollered once more into the empty house, into his fucking lonely life, and collapsed onto a sofa, leaning his elbows onto his knees and cradling his full, befuddled head in the palms of his hands. He was an idiot. He was drunk and an idiot… and perhaps a little bit in love. In short, an idiot. What the hell was he going to do with himself and the rest of his life now?! Bloody Weasel rejected him, publicly, and without a shadow of a doubt. Well, obviously he never expressed any kind of romantic – or carnal – interest in Draco before – save for a few hearty attempts at reducing the number of his teeth to nil – but there had always been a chance, a shy, little dream, that perhaps, one day, when they’d overcome their differences… or settle them in a different, more pleasant manner…

But now all that was gone as well, and Draco realised, that for the first time, he had found himself entirely without even the smallest hope. And he just felt like throwing in the towel and giving up on the world. Is he ever going to get his lucky break?! What was the point of such miserable existence, really?!

A small mewl came as a reply to his dark, morose thoughts, and startled him completely. _The fuck?_ He was alone in the house, as far as he knew, and when he spotted his own hand holding the wand firmly it was oddly comforting to know that all the heavy drinking didn’t put a damper on any of his reflexes. But a second later he realised not only the did the unusual sound emerge from somewhere very near him, but there was restless shuffling and movement _on his very person!_ A moment later a little pointy nose peeked out of the pocket of the leather coat he was still wearing, followed by a set of big blue eyes and soft ginger-y hairs…

“Oh, bloody hell on a flying carpet – you!”

He had completely forgotten about his purchase of the Pygmy Puffs – well, it was just one now, wasn’t it? Separated from its companion… who didn’t like it… similarities of their situations were not lost on him.

“What am I going to do with you, you little menace?” he murmured, but already offered the little ball of fur the palm of his hand to climb on with its short legs. The little beast squealed happily as soon as it rolled out onto his hand and promptly helped itself up his arm until it reached his shoulder and indulged in what appeared to be its favourite late-night snack – Draco’s ear.

“Stop it, or I’m going to have to get rid of you,” Draco mumbled, having a hard time admitting to himself that he sort of, uhm, perhaps a little bit appreciated the unequivocal, uncomplicated affection.

“Shame that. And just when I nearly bought that you were fit to take care of them. I guess you’re going to want to get rid of both now?” a voice behind him said, and Draco nearly jumped to the ceiling. Not only, because there was a voice, but because he recognised it. He turned around abruptly, his eyes wide with disbelief, and there he was: Ronald Weasley, in person, looking surprisingly sober and as blasphemously gorgeous as always. He was standing there with a small, apologetic smile on that pretty, freckled face, and in his extended hand there was the other fluffy fur-ball as if he came with a peace offering.

Draco’s heart jumped into his throat and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Sorry, Master,” a little house-elf, in charge of welcoming guests, squealed unhappily. “Mr. Wheezy wouldn’t listen to Squealy. Squealy tried to stop Mr. Wheezy but he was afraid to hurt the mini-Puffskein – it brings seven years of bad luck!”

“I don’t think your Master minds having me around, Squealy,” Ron Weasley said in uncommonly kind voice. “He would have thrown me out already, if he did. Run along, I’m sure your Master will call you if he requires your services. And thank you for thinking of the little beast. It belongs to your Master and it was a very wise choice not to hurt it.”

The house-elf squealed in horror at the thought of hurting his Master’s property, but only when Draco – his throat and his brain still not entirely functional – gestured that his services were indeed no longer needed, the tiny creature backed out of the room, all the while throwing suspicious, mistrustful looks at the redhead.

“What are you doing here?” Draco finally found his voice, and was surprised to hear how raw and gruff he sounded – almost as a layer of schooled indifference was peeled off and he was all undone underneath. He could no longer pretend he didn’t care.


	4. Chapter 4

“You forgot this one behind… so I thought I’d bring it along since you’d paid for it,” Weasley spoke softly, and suddenly he would not look at him.

“Don’t give me that… Don’t give me such bollocks!” the blond snapped. “I deserve better, you bastard! After tonight, I do. You led me on – you know you did – and then you saw it fit to publicly humiliate me, to abandon me… to _hurt_ me. What is _your.fucking.problem_?!”

And just like this, his voice stopped working again. The damn thing was less reliable than Trelawney’s prophecies. He was just drunk enough to feel the tears of indignation fill his eyes, and he was a Malfoy enough to turn around abruptly to hide them.

But then that mind-melting fragrance of the fiery-haired devil hit him from behind, and even in his anger he was so damn weak he nearly let out a moan. Those callused fingers brushed against his ear when they removed the fluffy ball on his shoulder, once more making him shiver with their touch, and those long arms were around him next, closing around him tightly. And he wanted to be strong, he wanted to be stubborn and haughty, and push the bloody Weasel away… but he couldn’t. His body simply melted into the man who came to get him after all, and when he felt the redhead’s face gently nuzzle against his neck, his knees went soft.

“ ‘m sorry… I panicked,” mumbled the silly Weasel with most divine, insanely soft lips on the planet. “I knew I was drunk… I thought I was making a mistake… but then I got home… and it took me about two seconds to figure out that my empty flat was a mistake… I spent the rest of the time just... working around my head. I have no idea how you did this… but you feel right, Malfoy… Draco. Being with you feels right. And you smell so fucking good… good enough to eat.”

The redheaded menace actually had the cheek to moan quietly before kissing the shell of his ear so gently Draco might have come a little in his pants. He had no idea how and when he got hard so fast, but he was bloody _solid_. Jesus, fucking crazy addictive Weasel…

“Merlin, you taste good… been wondering all evening how you tasted… You smell of pure sex, Malfoy, did anyone tell you that? It’s all I could think about this bloody evening… fucking you into the ground. I can’t do this courting shit… God knows I’ve tried, and I’m just pants at it. But I _can_ fuck… and I want to. You. I want to do you. But if you want me to go…”

“No!” was out before Draco’s brain even managed to catch up with his mouth, and then he closed his eyes in defeat and thought _fuck it, to hell with it all_ , he might as well.

“Please, don’t…” he whispered, just the way he always wanted to… and his reward was immediate and better than he ever dared to hope for.

Bloody Weasel just groaned like a fucking beast he was, and span Draco around to face him so quickly, the blond barely saw a flash of blue in those fierce sapphire eyes before their lips slammed together, and he moaned in earnest. Yesssss… _this_ … this fire… this need… this was what he was after.

The redheaded brute never bothered being gentle, as if he could read Draco’s mind and guess that he was sick of being handled as if he was made of porcelain. He didn’t refrain from marking the blond’s pale skin with his deceptively soft lips, hungry mouth, delicious tongue and those sharp teeth that made every hair on Draco’s body bristle… he didn’t even give him a chance to battle for supremacy. He was in charge, so clearly, so adamantly, it made all Draco’s reservations melt like ice cubes in hell. The bloody Weasel was here to take, and to own, and Draco was gagging to be taken, he was ready to be owned. They were finally what they were meant to be… they might be exact opposites but they fit together perfectly.

“Got a bed or something in this crypt you live in, Malfoy?” the redhead whispered, his tongue painting most delectable patterns around the base of his neck, making him whimper like there was no tomorrow. “Cause I’m ready to knock you down and give it to you right here. Not that I mind fucking you on the stone floor, if that’s all you’ve got… but I don’t want any whining in the morning that your precious back hurts.”

In the morning… so he meant to stay. The sheer audacity of Weasel’s absolute conviction that he wasn’t going anywhere until he was done with him, made Draco flushed from his hairline to his curling toes. He was under assault of that crude, brutish Weasel-ness and he loved it… he loved it way too much to fight it.

“Fuck… _ohholyfuckingfuck_ … hold on to me,” the blond somehow managed between desperate huffs of hot air and mewling like a kneazle, because the crazy Weasel decided to paint him a picture of what was coming by tearing his shirt in two and eagerly assailing his nipples with his mouth in a way that it made Draco’s eyes roll backwards. Quietly praying that he wasn’t going to splinch them both and leave any important bits behind, he Side-Along Apparated them straight to the master-bedroom that was always ready and never used since he became the legal owner… not until now. This was the only room that was good enough – and it didn’t hurt one bit that it had a bed the size of a minor-league Quidditch field.

“Better?” Draco gasped when they landed on top of each other and he sank about five inches into the cloud-like softness of mattress covered with satin sheets.

“Oh, yeah… So this is how rich man’s playfield looks like,” the redhead chuckled softly and let his tongue slide down the tender skin of Draco’s ribs, just to delve into his navel.

“ _MerlinfuckChrist_ , Ron…” the blond blurted because the redhead had just rubbed his cheek against the obscene bulge in his trousers and he was ready to beg. “I’ll have you know that I’ve never… oh, Merlin’s cock, don’t stop… that I’ve never brought anyone here… It’s… you’re… _fuckohfuck_ , man… you’re the first.”

The fiery head busy with melting him into a puddle stopped abruptly, and Weasel’s blue eyes sought out his grey.

“Never?” he wanted to know, and there was a certain disbelieving awe in his voice that told the blond his confession had really meant something.

“Never,” he breathed softly.

“But you’ve…”

“Yes… yes, I have. But not here… never here,” Draco spoke honestly because it felt as if he was giving Weasley something he really appreciated. All those pre-arranged, well-paid, brief encounters that left him more empty and lonely than ever couldn’t hold a candle to a single angry touch by his Weasel. Ron was right. This… meant something, and Draco wanted to make sure he knew.

“Then… why now? Why me?” the redhead asked quietly.

“You know,” the blond spoke awkwardly because he wanted to say it, he wanted to tell him that he’s been bonkers about him for nearly as long as he knew him, but it was too soon and too bloody scary– it could make him run. “You have to know. Because you’re _you_. There never was anyone else that fit.”

The redhead said nothing at first – and Draco was certain he once against managed to blow it. But then that pretty red head moved from his stomach towards his face, and the crazy Gryffindor beast kissed him in that desperate, got-to-have-you, breathless way that it made his head spin and his vision blur.

“Want to know just how well I fit?” the Gryffindor murmured into his mouth, and turned the blond into a quivering mess on the spot.

“I… yes,” he blurted, too inarticulate to put more than two words in a string at the thought that Weasley wasn’t messing around: he was going straight to the point, straight to the act of ultimate trust and intimacy between two lovers, and it melted something inside him to know that the redhead asked it of him. Was he just playing for all or nothing – or was he trying to tell him something?

“Oh, good…” Weasley purred near his ear, and his hot breath left him completely defenceless. “But under one condition… you call me Ron. I can’t fuck someone calling me by my family name… it doesn’t… put me in the right mindset,” he chuckled softly. “So, do we have a deal… Draco?”

“Yes, _bloodyyes_ , whatever… Ron… I need…”

“Yes?”

“All of you,” Draco said breathless. “I need all of you… everything you have to give. Your best and your worst… no holding back.”

“No holding back,” Ron promised after a short pause, and for a moment there Draco thought he sounded strangely emotional. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got, precious.”

Kissing Weasley – Ron – was out of this world. Perhaps it was because Draco had wanted it for so long, but every time their tongues touched, every nerve in his body seemed to prickle, and the blond was certain he could come from that alone. He _loved, loved, loved_ the silken tongue playing in his mouth, slipping into the depths that made him gasp for breath… and come back for more… teasing and caressing and exploring just on the right side of forceful in a way that it made Draco feel as if he was never properly kissed before. And to think he’d once considered Weasley clumsy and awkward… It was clear he had a lot of practice and the blond was trying very hard not to think of whom he had gotten it with. It could do him no good.

Tearing clothes seemed to be another one of the redhead’s kinks, and Draco realised that the whole savagery of the act made his skin alive and trembling with anticipation. Getting rid of them with magic didn’t bear half of the erotic appeal than the irreversible act of shredding them, so he’d have nothing to wear, nowhere to hide even if he wanted to. He loved the feeling of being vulnerable and exposed, for his lover’s eyes only.

Ron’s fiery head, pressed into some sweet spot on his body, was his favourite thing to watch. He was mesmerised by sensation of his body waking up under those skilful hands and godless mouth, and he was surprised to learn how many things the redhead could still teach him about his body… Like, how sensitive his tiny, rosy nipples really were. No man he was ever with, dedicated quite the amount of time Ron was willing to put in to properly worship them, and by the time the redhead was done with gentle scrapping, delectable, decadent sucking and – _“babe, you should get a nipple ring, these delicious little pebbles of yours are so worth it”_ – the blond was at the very edge of coming. With a devilish smile the redhead stopped just in time, but he could not stop Draco from whispering profanities and begging for more. Talking dirty seemed to fire the blue-eyed sex-god even more.

The blond loved to watch how the silken red hair spilled across his skin, creating a breathtaking contrast against its alabaster background, but the closer the gorgeous red head came to his leaking, pulsating cock, the harder it became for Draco to hold back from spilling his heavy load. Just the idea of that warm, wet mouth with those sinful, puffy lips anywhere near his swollen shaft was enough, and luckily, Ron figured out pretty soon in the game that he wasn’t going to last unless he intervened. So he mercilessly shredded his stylish new trousers, just like he did his expensive silken shirt before, and the first thing those long fingers did upon touching the hot, hard shaft, was to close around the base and contain the heat, pooling in his balls like dragon’s breath about to erupt.

Draco whimpered unhappily. His body was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, almost glossy in the candlelight, and he was teetering on the verge of bliss for so long he was willing to beg for release.

“Please,” he gasped and mewled all in one. “Give me something, you bastard… need to have…”

Those decadent lips that knew how to toy with him so, were suddenly near his ear, nibbling gently, and licking like a hungry kneazle, and the way the redhead purred in his ear was driving Draco absolutely spare:

“Oh, I’m going to give you something… just not my mouth around your cock. Not yet… not now. There will be plenty of time for that. If you’re a good boy I’ll let you fuck it… but I promised you something else first… You think you’re ready?”

“Yes!! I… there… everything is there… in the drawer… need you… need you inside…”

Draco knew he was incoherent but he couldn’t bloody help himself, could he? The thick, addictive musk of Ron Weasley was all over him, like his personal sex magic had been rubbed deeply into his skin, and he’s never been so turned on in his life.

“Such a good boy,” the redheaded devil whispered in his ear. “I’m going to make it so good for you.”

“Yes… _ohgodfuckyes_ … this, there... oh, baby, there…”

He couldn’t believe his own pathetic voice – calling Weasley “baby”, seriously… - but this was beyond his power to fight it from the second bloody Weasley lay his brutish, big hands on him. And now when that ungodly tongue found its way to Draco’s entrance, shamelessly tasting, probing, slurping and delving in deeper and deeper, breaching the tight ring of muscle again and again… Draco knew he was beyond help. He was never turning back now. He was entirely unable to pretend he wasn’t crazy about his Weasel and the way that magical mouth worked him; every bit of his willpower was dedicated to not blowing his hot load. Oh, but he needed to, so badly… And he almost didn’t make it.

As soon as Ron’s slick fingers slipped into his loosened hole, first one and then one by one, he knew this was it. Any time now, those fingers, infuriatingly experienced, would find his sweet little spot and then…

“ _RonohfuckRon_!”

His eyes rolled back from most intense, savage pleasure ever.

“There you go, babe…” the redhead hummed. “I told you’d make it good for you. You like that, beautiful? And I _love_ how it makes you look… how it makes you arch… open yourself… and offer yourself to me… you want more, babe? There’s _so_ much more… You think you’re ready?”

“I’m… _ohgodfuckinggod_ … I’m ready… so ready…”

For one completely incomprehensible, shocking moment Ron’s fingers disappeared, and the emptiness they’d left behind was unbearable. And then Draco felt like his world was being split in two. He forced his eyes open because he desperately wanted to see… and the sight of Weasley made it worth his while. Merlin… The redhead, standing there so tall, with flushed skin and those wild, brilliant eyes reflecting the candlelight, piercing him with his massive cock was like the image of an ancient, vengeful God, and Draco mewled in quiet worship.

And _that_ cock… He was always a bit of a cock-whore, and in this department at least, Weasley was a true king. His royal cock was perfect. Angry, purple, and deliciously leaking, it was so fucking big Draco knew that there was no chance in hell this beast wouldn’t slam all the emptiness he ever felt out of him. He was being invaded, conquered, breached and broken, tamed and put on pedestal, all in one.

“It hurts? Need me to go slower?”

The fact that the Gryffindor – and what a Gryffindor he still was! – bothered to ask, that he cared about not hurting him, did funny things to Draco’s heart that already drummed so madly as if was trying to break the confines of his chest.

“Yes…” he blurted out the truth, but before a flicker of worry could settle in those blue eyes, he said the rest: “But I like it. I’ve always liked it, coming from you. I used to love your beautiful anger. It’s all you ever gave me… anger and pain… and now it makes me feel real… I… don’t stop… you promised… all of it… all of you.”

“You gorgeous silly bastard,” Weasley said just above the whisper, and the tenderness in his voice was impossible to miss. “You never gave me a reason to give you anything else, did you? But now…”

With one last shove of those lean, shapely hips he was fully seated in the blond, and everything inside Draco seemed to shift and fall to place to accommodate him, to make them a perfect fit. The redhead slowly leaned down to kiss him on the mouth and it was one of those slow, gentle, thorough, sloppy kisses that just wouldn’t end.

“You need to move,” Draco breathed in a gruff, unfamiliar voice, because the fullness in him, the feeling of those heavy muscles locking him down, Ron’s tenderness – it was all becoming too much to bear, making him feel as if he was stalled halfway on the road to something beautiful and he couldn’t wait to finally get there. “ _Movepleasemove_ … you need to…yessss, _ohgodfuckyes_ …”

The redheaded god inside him moved and so did Draco’s universe. In fact, the bloody thing seemed to fall off its axis and roll around madly because the heaven and earth seemed to merge into one and blond could barely tell up from down in a wave after wave of ecstasy slamming through his body with every angry, fierce shove he could never even dream of.

“Like this? Is this what you want, you greedy little thing? I bet it is… I bet you can’t get enough, you craving un-fucked little bastard… Oh, yeah… I still remember where to find that hidden, little spot that makes such a needy, desperate whore out of you… There, right there… yeah, babe… beg for me, baby… So fucking beautiful… such pretty mouth… always saying all those vile, dirty things to me that made me wank like a fucking fury afterwards… that’s right, beautiful… I’ve been fucking my fist over you for over a decade now… Is that what you wanted? A decade of anger? There you go, love… all for you…”

The Gryffindor roughly grabbed Draco’s arms and placed them on the railing of the headboard above their heads, and the blond didn’t need to be told twice. He held on for dear life as the fiery storm ravaged every inch of space inside him and still, he kept screaming for more… more of that golden lust and brutal pleasure spilling across every inch of his tense body… more of that raw feeling that he was being owned and wanted and needed… more of his redhead, sinking deeper and deeper into him, making them into one the way no one ever knew how.

He knew he was going to be bruised and broken – and possibly unable to walk – but for Draco every shove of that fierce cock felt like god-sent. He’s been pining for his redheaded devil for so long, waiting, and fantasising, and only living off the scraps of his gorgeous anger for ages, and now it was finally all for him. His own savage need was making him see spots in front of his eyes and he no longer had any control over his babbling tongue blurting out every kind of nonsense… He never knew he could curse and beg quite so much… it was like Weasley’s cock was teaching him a new language… And every time that gentle, thorough, masterful tongue delved into his mouth, it took out a whimpered “more, babe…”, a gasped “harder, deeper, _yesthereyes_ …” or simply a garbled “ _RonRonRon_ , gods, Ron” out of it, like a jewel after jewel of inexhaustible treasure.

At the back of his head he knew he was approaching the point of no return fast and with no care. The redheaded beast was ruining him for everyone else, and if this was going to be his one and only time with him, the blond was ready to crash and burn, even if it left him in ruins for some time to come. He no longer tried to hold back, he was too fucking close and the need for release seemed to pound into him from inside, making whatever sanity and pride he had left dissolve into golden specks of stardust he kept licking from the redhead’s skin like he needed it to live…

Ron bent down once more; that soft mouth saying those filthy, commanding words came close one last time to reward him for being such a good, obedient fuck. And Draco’s arm simply let go of the railing in one last act of rebellion to sink into the golden, fiery hair, and hold him close when he let it slip off his raw, tender lips:

“How about some love, Ron…”

In the next second that big warm fist locked around his untouched cock and everything went white hot. Draco’s his lean body arched from the mattress and met his master halfway when the redhead slammed into him one last time, yelping his name like a curse and a prayer all in one, shaking and spilling and then spilling some more, babbling string after string of breathless profanities and words of silly endearments through his monstrous release. Draco’s body seemed to have shattered in a massive explosion of ecstasy, and he was left floating, weightless, in the wonderful unknown reality of overwhelming bliss. He always knew they would be good together but this… he couldn’t imagine this. 

Coming down from his high… _hurt_. God, what did that redheaded beast do to him? _Everything_ hurt, as if his whole body was just one big map of bruises and marks left behind by the merciless storm that was Ron Weasley… but it was indescribably good as well. He was still buried underneath a ton of muscle, hot and slick from their love-making, and the world was just right that way. He didn’t want to open his eyes and have it all end. Instead, he chose to inhale the beloved, intoxicating scent of the man that always made his knees weak, and tried to commit it to memory for the all the lonely nights that were sure to come. He was going to fall fast and hard after his Weasel was gone, he was certain of it, and when Ron finally moved, it was all too soon.

“Are you all right?” the Gryffindor wanted to know quietly, and the concern in his voice seemed genuine. “Uhm, I think I got a bit carried away…”

“Was perfect until a moment ago when you moved,” Draco murmured. “Don’t fix it if it isn’t broken. Not that I’m _not broken_ , you brute. I think you’re going to have to stay for a few days and make it better,” he babbled, because – fuck it, he had shit to lose and the worst that could happen was Weasley – Ron – walking out of there laughing at him.

And the redhead did laugh – but it was only a warm, chuckle that didn’t bear a trace of vileness, and when his fingers found a lock of blond hair, plastered across Draco’s cheek, and gently fixed it behind his ear, the gesture spoke of such endearment that a tiny bit of some crazy, irrational hope blossomed in Draco’s chest, and made his heart swell. Perhaps it wasn’t over just yet?

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” Ron spoke in that deep rumbling voice of his the blond had a separate little crush on because… oh, because it sounded just the way a man after thorough, heavenly sex should, didn’t it? “I believe I made you a promise involving, uhm, that impressive cock of yours… and I wouldn’t dream of letting such a lovely, needy thing down. I tend to take my cock-related promises very seriously,” he said in mock seriousness, but there was such a joyful, naughty light in those glimmering blue eyes that it pulled the corners if Draco’s mouth into a smile before he could help it.

“See that you do,” he murmured, trying not to choke on overload of overwhelming emotions. “I’ll be supervising.”

And that was it; that was all he could manage. Weasley wasn’t going anywhere, and all he needed to do, clearly, was to entice him into making him new promises – and Draco was a master of that. He spent most of his childhood manipulating and nudging his parents into making him promises he happily bullied them into keeping later – he could do this! He could do it forever… or at least for long enough until he thought of a better way to keep his Weasel… or at least keep him coming back for more. For now the fact that the redhead wasn’t ready to leave, made him happy enough to squeal.

So when the actual squealing filled the room, he nearly jumped to the ceiling. _JesusMerlinfuckingChrist_ , that wasn’t him, was it?!

But then Ron laughed heartily, and rolled to the side to reveal a most shocking sight. The two Pygmy Puffs – most unfortunate purchase in his life, to be certain! – were happily rolling around obviously getting _very_ friendly – a little _too_ friendly! – with each other.

“Oh, my sweet Jesus in a hot-air balloon, please don’t tell me they’re…”

“Having sex? Sure,” Ron said cheerfully, his shoulders still shaking with laughter.

“But I thought you said…”

“… that they couldn’t procreate. Well, they can’t. It doesn’t mean they can’t try.”

“Oh, Merlin’s left testicle… but they were just…”

“Yeah… they were fighting for a while – look at all the strands of fur lying around! – that’s why I put a silencing charm on them. Must have worn off,” the redhead murmured. “I put them together – I figured they better work out their differences early in the game – and with you out of the equation, it was going to be easier. It wouldn’t be ethical to condemn you to a life with pets prone to domestic violence, would it? I just didn’t think they’d figure out a way around their animosity so soon… and in such a way. This… we don’t see this very often. Curious, that…”

The redhead was now watching the two balls of fur making most awkward, embarrassing noises, with peculiar expression.

“You know, George reckons that something like this occurs only when they really like the way the other little beast smells,” he said uncommonly mildly. “Once this happens, there’s no going back, you know. They’re mates for life.”

And suddenly Draco’s heart was in his throat. Was it his imagination – or was his crazy Weasel trying to tell him something?

But Ron said nothing more. He just leaned down and kissed him – one of those delicious, mind-melting, sloppy kisses he could patent and have more money than God – and, murmured in his mouth sweetly.

“About that promise… I’ve got a bit of anger issues left from that time you made me a song? Would you care for some of that?”

“Oh, yeah… yes… definitely,” Draco moaned, his greedy, tireless cock, that should by all laws of physics be dead, magically reviving rather impressively. “I’ll have some of your beautiful anger.”


End file.
